


Ignorance

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Pre-Slash, Slightly unsympathetic light sides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He felt pain and suffering, and then it evened out into nothing. Was that normal? Logan couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe he could just sit here and never come out again.Well, he could. What was stopping him?
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 12
Kudos: 332





	Ignorance

Logan had never really liked being in front of cameras. They made him feel rather stupid and anxious - which made him terribly sorry for Virgil - and he could never understand Roman’s natural affinity towards them. 

Which, in Logan’s head, made sense why making videos made his skin crawl so much. Or, well, sometimes late at night Logan could admit that maybe it was the way he could see everyone’s eyes glaze over when he talked, or the way that they were so quick to accuse him of being the bad guy, or perhaps the way he could not talk and no one would care. 

Nonetheless, it didn’t matter. The very base of his existence, logic, was created from validity. Emotions, no matter how human a response they simply weren’t valid for him in any form because of two precise reasons. 

One, Logan wasn’t human and he never strived to be. He rarely ate dinner with the other sides, and the sleep he got each night was only to refresh himself for Thomas the next day. If he didn’t need those basic, mundane, human needs, he didn’t need emotions to function. 

Two, even if he was human, Logan was sure he would never have emotions. The tears that gathered in his eyes were simply there from Thomas’s exhaustion, and the tightening bands of pressure that squeezed his chest were the result of sleeping on his stomach.

So there it is, laid out on the floor plain and simple. Logan was fine. He didn’t hate the daily grind he was in, and there was no way that he would lie to himself. Ever. 

The other sides, well, they were a family. One that Logan wasn’t part of - he would never try and tell himself he was - and the sight of their familiarity made his face contort into an unwanted and unwarranted smile every time. 

When the others tried to tell him he fit into their perfect, three-piece puzzle, he would nod along. Nevermind the fact that he would reason the only place he would fit into any family would be the awkward uncle no one knew. 

Maybe they didn’t really want to talk over Logan, or maybe they didn’t understand they were doing it at all. It was like a habit; they just couldn’t stop themselves because they weren’t used to doing it. Lately, the mindscape had been quiet, though Roman was planning a large Christmas video, Patton was hanging lights over every surface in the house, and Virgil was complaining that Halloween was over. 

Logan didn’t really have a part, which was disconcerting. Sure, in everything important he was talked over and ignored and scoffed at, but he was always there. In fact, there had been an interesting example of his removal last week. He had spent the day hiding in his room, doing work, and didn’t come out the next day, either. 

When he did show his face, the other sides just looked the other way and laughed together at a joke he didn’t know or understand. And Logan had stood there, at the bottom of the stairwell, with an enormous hole in the bottom of his stomach. Was this what the ‘dark sides’ felt like? The thought made his stomach roil with nausea, and he left for another day. 

Currently, Logan sat at his desk, staring at the calendar in front of him, pondering what he was going to write in. A tug in his lower stomach confirmed that he was being called, and with a small, long-suffering sigh he popped up. It was much more difficult to pretend to be flat and emotionless than happy. Like it was easier to overcompensate than to pretend.

The other three sides stood around in the kitchen, sipping different drinks and snacking on various foods. With a tug that crushed Logan’s lungs, he realized they had been discussing the topic for a while before they called for his assistance. 

“Hey, Logan,” Roman burped, “what’s the chance of another Christmas carolling video being popular?”

“Well, considering that we have made a previous carolling video, it might not be as popular as a more original idea, however - “

“‘Cause I was thinking we should do something else, but Patty over here wanted to sing this season,” Roman blurted. Logan blinked and then felt his throat tighten in that unexplainable way it did. Not from being cut off, but from the way he reflexively stopped talking to let Roman start. The burn at knowing he was so used to it that his body stopped talking for him roiled through his stomach. Eyes unfocusing, he let the conversation blurred together and Logan ventured further into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

He then left for the safety of the kitchen table, standing close to the chair and feeling it’s cool support on his thighs. Logan didn’t know how long he had been standing in the kitchen until a yellow glove darted out and grabbed his glass from a white-knuckled grip. 

“Greetings, Deceit,” Logan murmured and stared at the spot where he knew the two-headed snake emblem would be hiding beneath Deceit’s cloak. 

“Hello, Logan. Aren’t you feeling absolutely wonderful today?” Deceit said in a much softer voice than usual. Logan felt something in his jaw shift and an awful pressure appeared in his gums. It stopped when he tried to answer.

“I am perfectly adequate today, thank you.”

“Really? You sure seem fine,” Deceit murmured, and Logan felt the pressure return in his teeth. Logan lifted his eyes and began to study Deceit’s snake features. They were so… so outlandish that they always took him by surprise. Would the scales feel real? Or were they harsh and prickly like Deceit’s countenance? 

When Logan was absolutely sure he had stared for too long, he dragged his eyes to meet Deceit’s yellow-brown ones and proceeded to lie through his teeth. “I am, in fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

With that, Logan swept out of the room, ignoring his aching teeth and the pit of lava that curled around his stomach. He missed the way Deceit’s snake eye grew into a slit and his lips press into pale sheets resembling paper. 

In his room, Logan sat on the floor and stared at his wall. His back arched against his unforgiving bedpost, and his neck hurt from the indecision of settling his head upon his knees or letting it drip back. A buzz filtered into his head

His stomach twisted into a string of knots, and Logan couldn’t tell if it was horrifically empty or stuffed full. To remedy this, he wormed a hand in between his folded stomach and knees. 

His knuckles bit uncomfortably into the soft flesh, but he didn’t remove his hand until his stomach stopped rolling in discomfort. 

His eyes stung, and he rubbed at them with his single hand until they stopped. Why in the world did he feel like this? Was there something wrong with Thomas? Or… or was it Logan? Was it him that couldn’t keep this up?

Logan’s breathing evened out, and his forehead dipped to meet his knees. God, he just wished to find some peace. His body began to ache from the unforgiving position, but Logan didn’t move. The numb crawled up his body, the feeling wrapping around his feet and slithering up to swirl around his throat.

This lack of feeling was almost like a symbol for him, Logan thought. He felt pain, suffering, and then it evened out into nothing. Was that normal? He couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe he could just sit here and never come out again. 

Well, he could. What was stopping him?

*

Logan wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the floor of his room. When he did peel himself into standing, his back cracked and his head swayed on his shoulders. As he stood, his stomach looped around his lungs causing him to hunch in renewed pain. Hiccups echoed around his room, and Logan thought he was choking until he realized he was crying. 

“No, no,” Logan sobbed, dragging his wrist across his glasses. Why was he crying? Tears dripped into his neck leaving chilly, itchy trails in their wake. His knees buckled again and he fell to the floor, whimpering into his hands.

Quiet. Stay quiet.

Logan’s head pounded, and he curled into a ball on his hard, unforgiving floor. Shame fogged his chest. 

Useless.

Weak. 

Alone. 

His hands flung his glasses across the room and didn’t notice the way they crunched on the wall. His tears had slowed, dripping like chilly marmalade across his cheeks.

Breathing was a problem, however. Logan felt as if the rope his stomach made around his lungs had tightened, restricting his airflow. His hands dragged at his throat, scraping to relieve the tension. It did not work. 

Boring. 

Insensitive.

Proud.

Logan opened his mouth to say no, that’s not true and fell short. He knew why; the others hadn’t told him these things, but they showed him every day. They showed him by talking over his facts, by snarling insults at his face with no apology, by rolling their eyes and snickering when he was the unwitting one in the room. Logan knew that he believed them, too.

His hands gripped at his skin. When it started to pinch uncomfortably in a way that said he would have bruises later, he did not stop. Logan’s head felt swollen in awareness; he could feel the way the floor dug into his side, and the way his fingers stretched his neck to make his already painful breathing near impossible.

What Logan did not notice was the way his room was becoming harder to see. His door started to meld with the wall. 

He was fading.

*

The knocks on Logan’s door didn’t register until they became pounding and creaking; The wood had fused with the wall which meant that the drywall cracked and peeled to the floor. Logan vaguely noted that he would have to sweep later.

“Logan!” someone shouted, voice shaking. He didn’t lift his head. “Remus, go slower, I beg you!”

The door burst open, spraying Logan with bits of white plaster. Two figures stood in the door, one clad with a cape and bowler hat and the other carrying a morning star. Logan’s head swam. Were they angels? Demons?

Hands swept under his body lifting him off the ground. “Fuck, he’s really light. Kinda like all his guts fell on to the floor,” said the being that was holding Logan. It rumbled through his chest, and Logan shivered at the warmth he gave off. They ventured away from his broken door, which looked more like a hole in the wall.

Thudded footsteps carried him downstairs. A part of his stomach lurched at the thought of the others seeing him like this. Move. Now. 

Despite his best efforts, Logan’s arms did not move at all. Swallowed in desperation, he keened out a quiet whimper. The arms around his tightened slightly. “Sh. It won’t - it’ll be okay, Logan,” a voice hissed softly into his ear. 

No, no it won’t, He wanted to shout, but his throat stayed shut. Laughter met his ears, and Logan felt shame claw up his spine. He really was weak like this. The gentle descent he had been on evened out, meaning they hit the floor level. Tears burned at the edges of Logan’s vision. 

A hand brushed the liquid from his cheeks. A ruckus broke through his misery and Logan turned his head to see what was going on. 

Roman stood with his katana drawn and a strangely protective look on his face. Virgil’s arms were snared around Patton’s shoulder’s, who looked vaguely sick. A perfect triangle. 

Logan’s stomach twisted further into itself and he curled around the pain by burying his face in the scratchy fabric behind him. It stung the bridge of his nose, but the pain was less than the one inside. 

The surface beneath the frills hitched and then puffed up; the arms wrapped around him tightened and squashed him tightly between the two forces. Logan’s brain sluggishly realized that there was shouting happening over his turned shoulder, but he did not care. His name was mentioned several times, which he ignored, but then someone gasped it as if they were crying. 

He turned. Patton’s hand was chasing the tears that had dripped down his freckled face. A frown was in the place of Patton’s normal smile. “What happened, Logie? Can you tell us?” he asked, voice raising like he was talking to a baby.

With a painful lurch, Logan’s heart reminded him of the times Patton had ignored him, told him he was being insensitive and accused him of being stubborn. Logan did not want to talk now. The pet name made it worse; it was similar to the ones he used for ‘Princey’ and ‘Verg’, but it hadn’t been used before. 

“No,” Logan gargled and then turned his head back to the uncomfortable clothing. A hint of green told him it was Remus, and instead of the fear and disgust, Logan would imagine feeling he only felt a small bit of relief. He wouldn’t judge. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t be like that. What’d they do to you?” Roman growled and, from the swish in the air, brandished his katana threateningly. Logan only shook his head. He was tired, and there was a spreading ache through his legs that made him regret ever letting himself be moved. 

“Go,” he pleaded Remus’s chest. “P - please.” The arms around him tightened once more.

“Yes, let’s. Roman, if you don’t move, I won’t have your brother eviscerate you. Yes?” Deceit hissed. It had to be the snake since no one else lied like that with the slightest hint of a lisp. 

The rustle of clothing told Logan that the other had stopped blocking the doorway to downstairs and something in Logan’s chest broke at just how quickly they got out of the way. If it was anyone else, the trio would have fought limb for limb. 

They travelled down and farther down until they reached a flat floor that was a comfortably cool temperature. Logan could no longer think clearly; his brain was scrambled from being overused and taxed.

He was set on a soft surface and covered by a warm blanket. Voices floated about his head, saying things like “I think I’ll kill all three of those bitches!” and “I totally would stop you, Remus,” but Logan was too tired to care. His mind drifted off to sleep. 

*

Patton knew something was wrong the second Remus and Deceit dashed up the stairs. They had never tried to go up there before, and now nothing special was going on. Roman and Virgil just kept joking, so Patton went along with it. 

The sight of Logan curled into Remus’s chest made something in Patton’s chest ache. What had happened? Did they hurt him? He asked, and the pet name just slipped out. The way Logan’s face crumpled made him realise it was a mistake. 

The three left, at Logan’s pleading, and Patton couldn’t stop the tears. He wanted to blame Deceit or Remus, but that wouldn’t work this time, would it? Roman let his sword drip and Virgil’s arms tightened around his chest. 

“W - what?” Virgil asked Patton’s back, and he could only respond with a sad little gasp. 

And then he remembered the doors. When Virgil had arrived, way back when, his door had popped up on the wall next to Patton’s. If Logan’s door was still there, then maybe the other had kidnapped him, or something! Anything other than what had just happened. 

He rushed upstairs, followed by Roman and Virgil, only to be greeted with a sight that he never wanted to see again. There was a hole, larger than Logan’s door, burst through the wall. Bricks were starting to form up again to fill it in, though they left a spot open.

When Patton looked through, he saw the way Logan’s room was quietly folding in on itself and disappearing from sight. Patton crashed to his knees. 

They had lost Logan.


End file.
